Remembering Jason.

  A kind man died recently. He was a dad, an athlete, a colleague, a farmer, a student of life. He was a friend that I hadn't spoken to in years. He knew his time was soon and he somehow had the capacity in his heart to reach out and let friends throughout his forty years of life know. Maybe to offer us a chance to say something, because in his final message to me, he communicated his deep peace with his timeline. A peace that rattled me, because I hate the randomness of cancer, the cruelty of a father missing his children's lives. The sudden reconnection and passing of this friend barely a week later rattled me in a way I wasn't expecting. We hadn't talked in years. And frankly, I hadn't thought to reach out. Maybe it was how peaceful he was in his final message to me, a peace I still ponder. It led me to consider the idea of closure. This is a poem in the works on closure, because goodness I hope we never settle on a final thought on a life, on a friend on a memory, I hope they continue to live, (even if!) only in the vaulted chambers of our memories. 

This one is for Jason. 

Closure. 

Closure is such a strange word

when we use it as a tether between humans 

to latch the covers of our books in common closure. 

Closure is such a strange word

when we use it as a thing we are in search of 

longing for 

hoping to find. 

As if we boarded the ship of sorrow and sailed out into open seas 

in search of the siren song of closure 

the mythical idea of ... 

of what? 

What closes? 

off?

within? 

without? 

between?

What is closure to a heart 

when everything has become memory 

when only one mind remains to remember. 

What is that neat fold in time we hunt for? 

the bridging of two ends of a napkin, the start and the end of an experience, a moment, a friendship,

the folds pressed down into each other and placed into your lap, 

palms resting heavy, holding on,

a heart not ready to leave the table.